A Day In Infamy
by Jzeylyn
Summary: HBP Spoiler Alert! For a Death Eater, killing shouldn't be a problem but when the target is Hogwart's own Headmaster, Severus Snape finds his task anything but easy. First time writer. Pleeeeease be gentle. Rated T for a few naughty words.


And now, the Disclaimer Jingle:

None of this is mine; it's all JK's you see,

You have to pay to read her stuff but read all of mine for free.

Sorry. That was corny, I know. First time writer (newbie alert!) taking the plunge, so please be gentle. Just in case, I do have my fire extinguisher handy. Do not have a beta and all mistakes are mine.

HBP Spoilers, so you have been warned and before you ask: YES! I live in denial that Snape is truly evil or that he betrayed us...I mean, the _Order_. It looks bad for Snape but when all is said and done, I'm hoping our favorite Snarky Professor will be shown as the (semi) good guy he really is.

Enjoy

* * *

A Day in Infamy

By: Jzeylyn

It was here in all of its horrible glory. The moment he had dreaded with every ounce of his being for months had finally made the leap from mere abstract to unshakable reality. It hardly seemed possible that today was the day that he, Severus Snape, would go down in history as the man who killed Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of the present age. Even as Snape rushed headlong towards his destiny, his black cloak billowing like giant wings in his wake, he could scarcely believe it.

When he reached the bottom step leading up to the tower, his gut gave a tremendous lurch, realization washing over him afresh and he stopped, squeezed his eyes shut and gripped his wand tightly in a trembling fist. _I'm actually going to kill Albus Dumbledore!_ The thought was so alien—so outlandish—it simply refused to register and even now his mind worked frantically for a way around it. _I can't do it—I just can't! I'd rather die. Vow or no Vow I can't do it!_

As soon as the words flittered through his head, he could almost hear the Headmaster's voice, urging him on. _You must. You promised me you would_.

Snape leaned heavily against the wall and ran a shaky hand through his greasy black hair, helplessness and fury making his whole body tremble. _There has to be another way, damn you! _

The familiar, calm voice echoed eerily as if speaking right into his ear. _There is no other way. Your promise to me is as binding as your Vow to Narcissa. I am depending on you, Severus._ _Please hurry. You know that time is short._

With a growl, Snape opened his eyes and lurched forward, his feet heavy as though encased in concrete, making him clumsy. _Twenty one, twenty-two, twenty-three…. _He mentally counted the stairs as he ascended knowing exactly how many were left—and each step he took seemed to go in slow motion. _Thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven_….The sound of his own harsh breathing competed with the steady clomping of his boots against the cold stone. _Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty….._ He was suddenly reminded of climbing _another_ flight of stairs in an entirely different tower. _Sixty-two, sixty-three_….He saw the door just up ahead but unlike the door in that different tower, no comforting scene of a safe-and-sound Headmaster awaited; no gentle ticking of clocks in the background or even the soft trill of a phoenix would greet him as he entered and he stumbled, realizing that this would be the last time he would see his friend—his mentor—alive. He picked himself up, not even bothering to brush the dust from his knees and staggered on. _Sweet Merlin, when did it come to this?_ As if in answer to his unspoken question, the memory of the meeting that put this swiftly approaching tragedy in motion unfurled like a parchment in his mind.

_

* * *

__FLASHBACK_

Snape stood in the doorway of the Headmaster's office, resisting the urge to fidget. As usual, Albus was seated behind his desk with the ever-present Fawkes perched behind him, the phoenix's keen eyes watching his every move. Seeing him standing at the door, the old man put aside his quill and parchment to give the former Potions Master his complete and undivided attention. "Severus? To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Was it his imagination or did Dumbledore's voice sound even more tired and faded than it had yesterday? _Maybe I need to check the potency of the potions I am giving him_, Snape decided, noticing the slightly gray color of the man's skin. _His color is getting worse. He could probably use a Pepper Up Potion, too. I'll see to that as soon as I'm finished here. I hope_. After he finished giving Dumbledore his message, he might not be going anywhere but prison. Pushing _that_ thought from his mind, he stepped inside and fastened the door securely behind him. "Albus, we need to talk."

It had been amazingly hard to force those first few words from his lips. They weren't damning or remotely evil but they had represented the starting point—the beginning of a conversation he had simply dreaded initiating. Dumbledore merely nodded and motioned towards the chair across from him with a wave of his hand. "Indeed we do, Severus. Indeed we do."

Padding swiftly across the room, Snape lowered himself down into the faded chair and waited, for a moment unable to look the Headmaster in the eye. "I don't know where to start."

Dumbledore gave him an encouraging smile. "The beginning is always best."

"Yes. I imagine so." He let out the breath he had unconsciously been holding. Calm, blue eyes in an equally calm face stared back from behind half-moon spectacles. "I…uhm…" He paused and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. How _would_ he break the news to him? "Albus…I…" Again his voice caught and he scowled, mentally cursing his sudden case of nerve-induced speechlessness. "I'm afraid this is not going to be easy," he said at length. Seeing his distress, Dumbledore spoke quietly.

"I can see that. Take your time, Severus. In this room, we have all the time in the world."

Snape nodded, trying to concentrate. He cleared his throat and licked his lips—not surprised that they were dry. "A few days ago," he began slowly, choosing his words with care, "I was given a rather….unwelcome suggestion by the Dark Lord." His dark eyes flicked to Dumbledore who merely nodded, giving a clear indication for him to continue. "I was strongly _encouraged_ to finish a particular job for Draco Malfoy should he fail."

"Tom always did have a roundabout way of putting things," Dumbledore said mildly. "What job did he 'encourage' you to finish?"

Snape was silent for a long moment. "Draco Malfoy has been ordered by the Dark Lord to kill you," he said in a rush. "and _that_ is what I am ordered to finish should Draco fail." As soon as he spoke the last he tensed, waiting for Dumbledore's reaction, half-expecting to see the old wizard spring from his chair and shout for the nearest Auror to come and drag him away to Azkaban. With his luck, they would toss him into a cell with Lucius Malfoy—head first. Instead, Dumbledore smiled serenely, completely unperturbed.

"Is that all? Goodness, I already knew that."

Snape blinked, startled. "Beg pardon?"

"I already know about Tom's request—order—whatever you want to call it," the old man repeated, still smiling. "And had you come to me earlier, you could have spared yourself a lot of needless worrying."

"I was unsure of how you would respond," Snape said honestly, amazed that he had known. He should have suspected, however. The old man was rumored practically omniscient. This most certainly confirmed it.

Dumbledore merely chuckled at Snape's surprise. "I am an old man; there is little you could tell me that would amaze or upset me. In truth, I have been expecting this."

"How long have you known?" Snape asked. "And _how_ did you know? This was only recently discussed within the Inner Circle of the Dark Lord's most senior Death Eaters!"

"Oh, I have my ways," Dumbledore said evasively. "And I've know for almost a week." He reached for a small bag and tilted it towards Snape, shaking the bag invitingly. "Lemon drop?"

Mechanically Snape reached out, stuck his hand inside the bag and pulled out one small, yellow candy. Instead of eating it, he stuffed it in his cloak pocket.

The Headmaster helped himself to the bag and was soon crunching contentedly on the lemony treats.

"Well, since you know, what is your plan?" Snape perched eagerly on the edge of his seat, sweet relief pouring over him. He was safe. The worst was over. After all, since Dumbledore had managed to discover the plot, that could only mean that the wily old Headmaster been constructing some clever countermeasure to thwart it in the interim—spinning some heroic, Gryffindorish web of intrigue to snare the Dark Lord and beat him at his own game. Yes, Dumbledore would have a plan. The Dark Lord's wicked scheme was as good as foiled. To his dismay, Dumbledore popped another lemon drop into his mouth and crunched—loudly. "Albus, the _plan_?" he prompted. "Perhaps your lemon drops could wait?"

Still munching, Dumbledore rolled up his bag with obvious reluctance. "You're right, Severus. I can't very well talk and eat lemon drops at the same time can I?" He stuffed the bag away in a drawer to prevent further temptation. "Here is the plan." Dumbledore sat forward in his chair, his expression intent. "I want you to kill me."

The words seemed to hang in the air and Snape sat frozen in stunned disbelief. Of all of the things he might have expected Albus Dumbledore to say, that was _not_ one of them. "What?" he blurted, his dark eyes perfectly round. "_What_ did you say?"

"I want you to kill me. Oh, not today, of course," Dumbledore hastily amended, seeing Snape turn a most unhealthy shade of white. "After all, Draco has yet to make a noteworthy attempt on my life." He paused. "By the way, have you spoken to Narcissa?"

Snape gave a tiny shake of his head, his mouth still hanging open. When he realized he was gaping like a fool, he closed it with a snap. "Not….not yet," he managed to say. "I doubt she even knows. Draco was forbidden to speak of it. He wouldn't dare betray the Dark Lord."

"Don't be too sure of that," Dumbledore told him. "He will tell his mother. Never underestimate the relationship between a son and his mother. With Lucius in Azkaban, she will probably come to you for aid--and very soon, I would imagine. You would be the only one she would trust with Draco's life outside of his father. Try to give her whatever help she needs concerning the boy."

Snape started to protest but Dumbledore cut him off and said offhandedly: "And when the time comes to kill me, use something quick if you don't mind. Painless would be a plus but I'll understand if some discomfort is involved. I think the killing curse will do nicely. Keep it simple. Besides, I've always wondered if it was instantaneous or not. What do you think?"

The question was outrageous. Nuts. It really was. An escapee from the mental ward at St. Mungo's might ask a question like that. For a brief moment, Snape resisted the urge to laugh out loud—until he saw the serious expression on Dumbledore's face. The man was serious. Completely and utterly serious. The laughter died in his throat just as quickly as it appeared.

_Oh, hell. I am so scre--_

"—Severus?" Dumbledore was looking at him strangely. "Did you have something to say?"

Snape shook his head to clear it. He opened his mouth once or twice but nothing came out. Then, he found his voice. "Yes, I do," he managed calmly, then paused and took a deep breath—and exploded. "_Have you Lost YOUR_ _MIND_!" he bellowed, popping up from his chair as if stung. "Are You INSANE? Merlin's beard—!" he spluttered for a moment, trying to collect his wits. He couldn't. "You've gone off your _rocker_, old man! Who in their right mind would have the sheer _LUNACY_ to ask the dunderheaded question if the killing curse was instantaneous or not!"

"It was just a question, Severus," Dumbledore said, looking almost hurt. "There is no need to shout. I think my plan—"

"Plan? _PLAN_? My God, Albus! _Peeves_ could come up with a better plan than _that_! Tell me I'm wrong. Please tell me I did _not_ hear you say what I _THINK_ you said. Did you just ask me to kill you? With an _Unforgiveable?_"

"Indeed I did."

Snape stared back at him—then laughed harshly, shaking his head. "Well, well, well! I have heard _everything_ now! I might as well pick out my cell in Azkaban if _that's_ your plan!"

Dumbledore folded his hands in front of him, unmoved by Snape's outburst. "One of my more brilliant ones, if I may say so myself. I will make the necessary arrangements—"

"—Don't bother. I won't do it."

"Severus, you mu—"

"—I said _no_, Albus!"

Dumbledore sighed, removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes tiredly with his one good hand. "It is the only—"

"—_NO, ALBUS!_" Snape slammed his fist down on the desk and leaned forward, his face just inches from the old wizard's and snarled: "What part of no can you _not_ understand! _I will not do it_. End of discussion!"

Dumbledore frowned and waved his wand at his spilled inkwell. The rapidly spreading ink vanished and he carefully replaced the stopper to prevent any future mishap in the event Snape decided to pound his desk again. "I know this will be hard for you," he began patiently, "And I know—"

"—hard?" Snape snorted in disgust and straightened, scowling darkly as he began to pace back and forth in front of the wooden desk. "_Hard_? Hard does not come close to what this is!" he hissed. "How dare you ask this of me!"

"_You_ asked me about my plan. _I_ am merely telling you," Dumbledore countered. "You are the only one I _could_ ask to do this."

Snape stopped in mid-pace, his black eyes narrowing. "Me? I should be the _last_ person you ask! Dark Lord be damned! Just because _he_ wants me to kill you is not an indication that I should! If that were the case, this war would already be over."

Dumbledore replaced his glasses. "Severus, I know I am asking a great deal from you, and if the situation did not warrant it, I would never put you in this position." He watched as Snape glowered back at him, anger radiating from every pore. "And I know full well the repercussions and the dangers you will face and for that I am truly sorry."

Snape folded his arms across his chest, still glaring. "I am not worried about the _danger_ or the _repercussions_." He spat the words as if bitter tasting. "I simply will not agree to voluntarily murder you. I can always tell him you are too well protected. That excuse has worked for years."

"True, but times have changed. He may not so readily believe you this time. Do you not agree that if I escape, the Dark Lord will torture and then kill young Draco for his failure? And then punish _you_?"

Snape's lips thinned. "Obviously I agree—but is it not _also_ obvious that the Dark Lord may kill him even if I were to agree to this disaster? Your sacrifice would be for nothing."

Dumbledore appeared to ponder the question but it was clear that he had already considered the possibility—and decided accordingly. "There is always that chance. However, it is my hope that he will be too pleased with the end result to fully consider _who_ accomplished it. Your life _and_ Draco's would be spared. Draco shouldn't be punished for his father's actions. He is not his father."

Snape gave another rude snort as the unintended barb hit home. "I seem to remember hearing that same statement from you regarding someone else—many times—especially over the last six years," he remarked dryly.

Dumbledore sighed and leaned back in his chair. "We are discussing Draco and _only_ Draco. Let's get back to the point." He paused for the briefest moment then continued before he could be interrupted. "For all his bravado, Draco is not the killer Lucius is—and I do not want Draco to become his father. He doesn't have the stomach for killing, thankfully. He _will_ fail."

Snape's eyes sparked. "Yes, Draco _will_ fail, which still leaves _me_ to finish the job—or have you forgotten?"

"Oh, no. I haven't forgotten that." Dumbledore stroked his long white beard, looking thoughtful. "But Draco might yet be spared if the original goal is achieved. You could even suggest leniency for the boy and Voldemort would listen to you. After all, you will be laurelled as a hero for killing me. That could even be part of your reward."

Snape's scowl, if possible, deepened. "Do you think I _want_ that kind of reward? Do you honestly believe I _want_ the title of 'The Man Who Killed Albus Dumbledore?' Sweet Merlin, Albus! What kind of man do you think I am?"

"I _know_ what kind of man you are, Severus," Dumbledore said simply. "We both do."

Snape stiffened. "I see. Because I am a Death Eater, you believe this should be an easy task for me?"

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to."

For a moment, both were silent. Then, Dumbledore spoke.

"Severus, you and I have a Vow that can _never_ be broken, not by me, not by you—and not by Voldemort. I have trusted you with my life for almost seventeen years and now, I will trust you with my death. You are _not_ betraying me to Voldemort because you are _not_ taking anything from me that I am not willing to give."

"It still smacks too strongly of betrayal," Snape growled. "And no matter what you say or do, this will only confirm everyone's belief that your trust in me has always been misplaced. Even if you leave behind proof of my _innocence_—and I use that word loosely—do you think they will believe it? The fact remains that I_ will have killed you_."

"I promise you that when Voldemort is at last defeated, you_ will _be exonerated. I will make certain that everyone knows the truth. They will know about the Vow you made to me all those years ago—and they will know about _my_ plan and _my_ decision. You will not spend one night in Azkaban. Besides, this will give you the opportunity to get closer to Tom."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Wonderful. And what good is information that no one will use? Let me speak bluntly, Albus. No matter how close I get to the Dark Lord—no matter how highly he promotes me—if no one will use the information I obtain, it is _useless_. Until the truth comes out, do you honestly think anyone in the Order will believe anything I say?"

"Honestly? No."

"Then why mention my 'closeness' to the Dark Lord? If anything, this gives me more reason to say no!"

"No one need know _where_ the information came from. There are many ways to funnel information to those who need it without identifying its source." The blue eyes twinkled for a moment. "And I am quite positive you can come up with a few imaginative ways to get messages to the right persons within the Order." Slowly, the twinkle faded and the blue eyes became serious—perhaps the most serious Snape had ever seen them. "But the most important reason I have for making this request is one that you well know."

Snape frowned, knowing at once what he was referring to. "You will live for several months yet," he said firmly. "Maybe even a year or two. The potions I am giving you will make certain of that. You are grasping at straws."

"That very well may be, but think about this for a moment: in the coming months, I will grow steadily weaker despite your potions and your best efforts. Everyone will focus their attention on me—and not on Voldemort and this war. They will spend their time trying to stop something that cannot be stopped and that is a risk I am unwilling to take. My death will come as a shock, yes—as will your involvement until the truth is revealed but in the meantime, it will have its advantages. I would be a martyr—a rallying point, if you will." As he spoke the last, Dumbledore suddenly chuckled. "I must say, that sounds unbelievably vain coming from such a doddering old man."

"Yes, it does," Snape said, deadpan. "It must be thrilling to imagine everyone running into battle shouting: 'Remember Dumbledore'." His tone became snide. "I, on the other hand, will be the one listening to everyone shout: 'Kill Snape'. This will make me a bigger target than the Dark Lord."

Dumbledore gave Snape a knowing smile. "Bigger than Voldemort? Severus, _now_ who is being vain? I am sure Voldemort will be a _slightly_ bigger target."

"Only marginally," Snape answered, not willing to be mollified.

"Marginal is better than nothing," the Headmaster said, still smiling. "Now, I am sure you can understand the importance of removing any stumbling blocks at this point…especially if that stumbling block is _me_. I am now worth more to the Order dead than alive, I am afraid."

Snape started to reply but stopped short. Of _course_ his argument was logical. It made perfect sense. As Dumbledore became progressively weaker, the others would work frantically in a vain attempt to cure him, wasting valuable time and resources. Where a weakening leader could devastate morale, a martyred one could inspire greatness—and create a thirst for vengeance amongst his followers. Very few things in life pushed a man harder than the sweet promise of revenge against an enemy who was once an ally and friend. His betrayal would no doubt propel the Order members to achieve great and mighty deeds. "You could ask me for anything else, Albus, and I would do it," Snape said slowly. "I owe you that, at the very least, but this is insane. Find someone else—or _something_ else. _I_ am hated enough, thank you very much."

Dumbledore shook his head. "You know that I can't. Besides, who would you recommend? Remus? Minerva? Possibly Harry? Of all of the people you know, can you think of anyone who would have the courage to do this—while staring me in the face?"

Snape sighed loudly and dropped his head. "Albus, please. Do _not_ ask me to do this."

"You are the only one who can," Dumbledore persisted, sensing Snape's weakness. "You are the only one with the strength to do it."

"Are you absolutely certain this is the only way?" Snape returned to his seat and dropped his arms over the sides of the chair but his posture was far from relaxed. "Are you 100 positive that you have exhausted all other avenues?"

"Absolutely certain."

"Damn. I knew you would say that." He leaned his head against the back of the chair and shut his eyes. "We still have time, you know. Maybe together we can—"

"—outside of this room, time is a luxury we do _not_ have. We have no way of knowing when everything will come to a head. It may be months from now, or it may be tomorrow. We need to decide here and now." Dumbledore suddenly rose from his chair and moved around the desk towards him, then sat on the arm of a nearby chair, Snape watching his every move with narrowed eyes. Ever so slowly, he reached down and placed a withered hand on his shoulder. "Be honest with me Severus. Are you reluctant because you believe I would think you hated me and was secretly glad to see me die? Or that _I_ would hate you if you said yes?"

Snape looked at him sharply. Sorrowful blue eyes bored into his, willing him to honesty. Somehow the Headmaster had managed to peel away his defenses to find the one true reason he would continue to deny his request. For all of his dislike or loathing of others, Albus Dumbledore had been the one person Snape could honestly say he respected—and cared deeply about—and the fear of being on the receiving end of that old man's hate was simply too much for Snape to bear. "Possibly," he said faintly, never taking his eyes from him. "The thought had crossed my mind."

Dumbledore smiled at his admission. "I thought so. Let me put your mind at rest." He leaned forward, his voice still soft and low. "I could _never_ hate you, Severus." He squeezed the younger man's arm tightly. "I could never hate you because I love you like a son, regardless of your past—and I always will, regardless of what may happen in your future. I realize now that I should have told you this long ago and I am sorry for waiting this long."

At that moment, Snape could not have said a word if he tried.

"I have watched you suffer in silence," Dumbledore continued, "seen you take the worst of what life has to offer and still remain standing. Severus, you are the bravest and most intelligent man I know and I am honored to have been your friend. Your strength has amazed me through the years—it still does—and when the time comes that you must fulfill this request, I will never be more proud of you than on that day. Always remember that."

There was no deception in his voice, no subterfuge behind his eyes and as surely as he knew his own name, Snape knew that Albus Dumbledore was telling him the complete and unvarnished truth. At last he was hearing the words he had longed to hear from a man he had regarded as a surrogate father for most of his life. To his surprise, a lump rose quickly in his throat and he swallowed. "Thank you, Albus," he mumbled, almost embarrassed by his response to the older man's words. "I am….rather pleased to hear you say that."

Dumbledore nodded. "As I said, it was too long in coming. Severus, I am asking—no, I am _begging_ you to abide by my wishes. I have no desire to waste away until I am nothing but a useless husk or worse, a liability. I want you to do this one thing for me, not because I am dying, not even because I asked you but because you trust me enough to know that it is the _right_ decision…." His words became a whisper. "and that you love me enough to carry through with it."

A burning weight dropped squarely on his chest. "Albus—"

"—Will you do it?" The old man's voice quavered ever so slightly and he squeezed his shoulder again. "Will you do this for me?"

Snape blinked, horrified by a sudden hot prickling behind his eyelids. "All right," he said hoarsely, turning his face quickly away before Dumbledore could see the wetness clinging to his lashes. "Yes. Damn you, old man. I'll do it."

Dumbledore's face shone with what could only be described as relief. "Thank you, Severus."

_

* * *

_

_BACK TO PRESENT_

The scene faded abruptly as soon as Snape reached the top step. He looked around, quickly assessing the situation. Standing next to Dumbledore was the familiar shape of Draco Malfoy. He was shaking like a leaf caught by a stiff autumn breeze and Snape was amazed that the young man was even able to hold his wand. Dumbledore was speaking, his voice urgent yet soothing and when Snape appeared in the doorway, he paused and looked at him with clear relief but as Snape moved closer, the relief faded and doubt took its place.

"Severus?" Dumbledore's voice was uncertain.

Bile rose up hot and bitter in his throat, threatening to choke him and for a moment he was positive he would throw up. It was so surreal. It just couldn't be happening but there he was, trapped in a nightmare that he would never wake from. He felt his face flush as he swallowed convulsively.

"Severus, please…."

The other Death Daters stared at the old man in shock, totally misunderstanding the pleading tone. This was the great and powerful Albus Dumbledore? Pleading for his life? Absolutely amazing!

"_Severus_…."

The words of his promise and the magic behind the Vow pulled him forward like a marionette on a string and he found himself standing in front of the headmaster—his friend, his mentor.

"_Please_…."

He stared down at Dumbledore in impotent fury, forced by necessity to bottle the words he wanted to scream with all of his might. _Why? Why me? Damn you, Albus! I begged you! I begged you! You said I was like a son! How could you ask me to kill you after that? _He lifted his arm, his face contorted with anguish._ How will I ever live with myself now?_

"Severus…"

Snape pointed his wand and took a deep breath, his blood roaring in his ears. _Good bye, Albus_.

For a brief second, the tired blue eyes held their familiar sparkle—but more than that, they shone with the warmth of a father towards a son. _Good bye, Severus. _

A flash of sickly green—

and Albus Dumbledore became a memory.

_

* * *

__AFTERTHOUGHTS_

It was dark inside the old barn and Snape sat on the floor with his knees drawn up to his chest, his back resting against a rough hewn wall. Draco was beside him, leaning against his shoulder in exhausted slumber, his blonde hair ghostly white against the darkness of his robes. Although their mad dash from Hogwarts had been only a few scant hours before, they would soon need to be on the move again. No doubt every Auror in the country was looking for him. For now at least, hiding inside the old barn, they were safe. When they reached the Dark Lord's lair, however, Draco's situation could quickly change but for now, Snape could not even begin to think about such things. He simply didn't have the strength.

With a sigh, he stretched out his legs and shut his eyes, his mind as well as his body blessedly numb and absently swiped at a spider that picked its nimble way across his cloak. As he did so, he felt something--a small, pea-shaped something in his front pocket. Curious, he reached inside and pulled it out, letting the mysterious ball roll into his palm. The moment he recognized it, the magnitude of what had taken place in that tower swept over him in a chilling flood of harsh, irreversible and terrifying finality and he clenched his teeth, struggling to contain the misery that threatened to overwhelm him. "Oh, Albus," he whispered brokenly as his grief rose up like a black tide and all at once came crashing back down. "I am so sorry." He took a ragged breath. And then another. "I am….so terribly sorry." In the silent dark, with only a troubled child for company, the hot tears he had refused to let fall in front of the old Headmaster slid unchecked down his face and dripped like salty rain from his chin. "What have I done?" He choked back a sob. "Oh, dear God, what have I done?" With blurry eyes, he stared down at his hand, trying to focus on the glittering object—forcing himself to look at that one small reminder of a friend he would never see again.

Lying in his palm like a tiny, sugared jewel

was a lemon drop.

End


End file.
